


Talkative

by Enjoloras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: As always Enjolras is trans in all my fics, It's not the smut I promised but it IS a bit filthy in places soooo, M/M, it doesn't come up but like I just need y'all to KNOW, mostly dirty jokes tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 11:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20406787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enjoloras/pseuds/Enjoloras
Summary: Courfeyrac is enlisted to offer advice when Enjolras finds himself with a very unique relationship problem.





	Talkative

-

There was nothing unusual about Enjolras texting him to meet for lunch. There was nothing unusual about him suggesting The Corinthe. But, Courfeyrac noted, there was _definitely _something unusual about the awkward, edgy way Enjolras was carrying himself as he sat down, hair windswept from the Metro. He looked almost suspicious, like he'd just robbed the Louvre and was trying desperately to hide the Mona Lisa inside his coat. Unlikely, Courfeyrac thought. Enjolras didn't really care much for art – only artists.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said, fumbling to set down his phone. His face was red – bright, bright red, as if he had a terrible sunburn. Courfeyrac might have even put it down to that, if it weren't the middle of Autumn.

“You're not late,” he said.

“I am,” Enjolras argued, gesturing to his phone. “Four minutes.”

“Oh woe is you,” Courfeyrac smirked. “And here I thought you'd stood me up!”

“I like to be punctual,” Enjolras said, pouring a glass of water from the jug Courfeyrac had already ordered for the table. “Shall we see the menu?”

“Why? You already know everything that's on it.”

“Well I just----”

“What's wrong?”

Enjolras blinked, freezing like a rabbit in the headlights of a car. “Wrong?”

“You look nervous,” Courfeyrac explained, gesturing to Enjolras in his entirety. “Has something happened? Did you and R have a fight?”

“No,” Enjolras said, “No, nothing like that...”

“But there_ is_ something bothering you, isn't there?”

“Well, sort of,” he looked down sheepishly. “I actually had an ulterior motive in asking you to lunch.”

Courfeyrac gave a missish gasp. “Why, Enjolras, you cad! Remember, we're both in relationships!” he joked. “And I'm afraid I could never love you that way! I like my men with medical degrees and a weird enthusiasm for moths.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant,” he said. “I want your advice.”

Courfeyrac leaned back in his seat. “My advice?” he echoed. “Are you sure? Didn't you ban me from giving advice after that thing with Bahorel?”

“Well that was over a year ago,” Enjolras said, brushing it off. “And besides, whilst you shouldn't have encouraged him, if Bahorel really thought reheating something in aluminium foil in the university staff kitchen was a wise idea, that's his problem.”

“In my defence, I knew it was a bad idea – I just really wanted to see what happened,” Courfeyrac said.

“Right, well – regardless. This is advice I know you're good at,” Enjolras said. He lowered his gaze again. “Relationship advice.”

This time Courfeyrac's gasp was not for humorous or dramatic effect. “Oh!” he cried. “So you and R _have_ had a fight?”

“No!” Enjolras said quickly. “Really, we haven't!”

“Then what----”

“It's...complicated. And a bit weird.”

“That sounds like literally everyone in our friend group,” Courfeyrac said. Enjolras managed a small smile at that.

“Okay, well...there's a slight...hitch, with Grantaire and I.”

“Hitch?”

“Yes. He's very...talkative,”

“Is that supposed to be news?” Courfeyrac asked. “Enjolras, forgive me for saying this, but have you ever _met_ your boyfriend?”

“That's not what I mean,” Enjolras said, rubbing his temple. “It's a little more...personal than that.”

“Personal?”

“Yes. You know how he's always rambling and ranting?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well he's even like that...in bed.”

“He's keeping you awake at night, then?”

Enjolras let out a groan, sliding forwards until his head was resting on his arms on the table. “Really? You're not an innocent person, Courfeyrac, I can't _believe_ you're failing to understand what I'm saying!”

Neither could Courfeyrac, in all honesty – but the moment he said that it was like a lightbulb went off above his head. “You mean---oh._ Oh_.”

“Yes.”

“So like. Just...afterwards, or...?”

“No,” Enjolras said, lifting his head from his arms. “The whole time.”

Courfeyrac probably shouldn't have been as surprised as he was. For all Grantaire' claimed to hate himself he certainly seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. Getting him to talk wasn't a challenge. Getting him to stop again, however...

“What does he even say?” Courfeyrac asked, totally baffled. “Is it like, dirty talk?”

Enjolras' face turned beet red. “No,” he said, “I wish it was. That might make it less weird...”

Courfeyrac raised one eyebrow. “You'd like it?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry, couldn't help myself – but really, what does he say?”

“It's all very nice,” Enjolras said, taking a nervous sip of his water. “It's very romantic. All waxing poetic and Greek mythology. The other night it was Latin.”

“Wow. Sexy.”

Enjolras blushed even more brightly, so much so that Courfeyrac started to worry all the blood rushing to his head would cause him to pass out.

“I, uh, imagine it kills the mood a bit, hey?” Courfeyrac said, “It's got to be distracting when your boyfriend is there pounding away at it and starts quoting, like, Ovid or some shit...”

“Do you have to word it like that?”

“Sorry. But really – is it putting you off?”

“No, I...that's not actually the problem,” Enjolras confessed, toying uncomfortably with his hair. He looked away. “You've heard him spout all his mythology and classics knowledge at meetings, right?”

“Right.”

“Well it's kind of starting to have an effect on me.”

“Effect?”

“Yeah. What's the name of that guy? Who trained his dog? Combeferre was talking about it last week...?”

“Pavlov?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you---wait---oh my _god!_” Courfeyrac nearly fell out of his seat. Enjolras hid his face in his hands. “Holy shit! Enjolras, are you getting turned on at meetings?!”

“Stop! Don't make this any weirder for me than it already is!”

“I sit next to you! Oh, god – I suddenly feel so _dirty_...”

“I'm sorry! I can't help it!”

“It's fine, it's fine!” Courfeyrac said, trying to restore calm to the table. He was pretty sure a few other restaurant patrons were looking at them now. “Sorry – I didn't mean to overreact. But wow. That's...well, wow.”

“I know.”

“What do you want my advice for, then?”

“I need to make it stop.”

Courfeyrac scowled. “I don't know how to help,” he admitted. “Can't you just drag him away for a quickie like a normal pervert?”

“Courfeyrac!”

“Sorry. But really – what do you want me to do about it? I could get one of those hand buzzers and give you an electric shock every time you look like you're getting turned on? Decondition you that way?"

“No!” Enjolras said, “I just...I need advice on how to get Grantaire to stop talking in bed.”

“But you're into it!”

“I know I am! But it's embarrassing.”

“Have you tried playing music?”

“Yes. He just talks over it.”

“Kissing him so he can't talk?”

“Yes – it doesn't work,” Enjolras sighed. “Every time he has to break away to take a breath, he fills the silence.”

“What about just being obnoxiously loud in bed yourself? Screaming his name over and over would probably leave him pretty speechless,” Courfeyrac said.

“I...could try that, I suppose? I don't know...”

“Well give it a shot. Or failing that, just, you know – talk to him. He loves you, he'll listen. He probably doesn't even realise he's doing it.”

Enjolras nodded. “I suppose you're right,” he said. “About just talking to him. We're trying to work on the communication thing, I guess this is as good a reason as any to practice...”

“Good! Now, let's order some food,” Courfeyrac said brightly. “And some cocktails – for me. I want to try and forget this conversation ever happened.”

-

The foreplay was fine. It always was – usually because that was when Grantaire's mouth was otherwise occupied. Enjolras imagined it was quite difficult to start reciting Virgil with your tongue busy inside another person. It was when they got down to the business of it all that things always took a turn. Grantaire would kiss a hot trail down his neck and start to mutter his endearments and poetry into his ear, so passionately it made the hairs on Enjolras' arms stand on end. It was sexy – it was. Enjolras didn't think he was the only person in the world who would think so.

Or maybe he was, and he just had a very, very specific type. That type being failed art student who had switched to philosophy who had switched again to classics before dropping out completely. That was a type, right?

Well, Enjolras was into it. Embarrassingly so. Especially when that failed art student who had switched to philosophy who had switched again to classics before dropping out completely was whispering Latin against his skin and making him see stars with every thrust.

“You are absolutely resplendent,” Grantaire murmured, stubble scratching pleasantly against Enjolras' throat. “I have decided you are not Apollo after all. No, perhaps you are Hyacinthus or Ganymede, glorious enough to drive gods to madness and wrath! Most beautiful of mortals, most divine. But no, not quite so passive - more an ancient Greek hero. Achilles, maybe. Whatever and whoever you may be I am an acolyte of your cult! My darling, my beloved..."

Enjolras should not have found that arousing. He really shouldn't have. But then, it was rather nice to see that Grantaire had taken on board all his complaints about being compared to gods. The problem was he carried these comments over into the Musain. Enjolras had to put a stop to it – unfortunately. He remembered what Courfeyrac suggested – being loud. It was worth a try, he thought, tipping his head back and crying out.

Apparently he was not the master actor he thought himself, because Grantaire immediately stopped what he was doing, staring down at him with alarm.

“Enjolras? What's wrong?” he asked.

“Wrong? Nothing..."

“You're making noises like a dying whale.”

Enjolras felt his cheeks burn up. “I was just...enjoying it,” he said.

“Those aren't your normal sounds,” Grantaire said. Was it touching that he was so familiar with his 'normal sounds'? Probably, Enjolras thought. He smiled awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he said, “Actually – no. Can we talk?”

Grantaire disentangled himself, sitting back. “Sure,” he said, “No problem.” His expression rather contradicted his words. He looked worried, Enjolras noted. What did he think was going to happen?

“It's nothing bad,” Enjolras said hurriedly. “Honestly.”

“Well it seems like it might be,” Grantaire remarked, averting his gaze. “You chose a hell of a moment to want to talk about it...”

“It's actually about that,” Enjolras said, propping himself up on his elbows.

“About what?”

“About sex.”

Grantaire blinked. “Oh.”

“Look, the talking...”

“Oh. Right. Do you not like it?”

Enjolras grimaced. “No – I do. That's the problem.”

Grantaire's expression grew even more perplexed. “So you _are_ into it? Because it really seemed like you were, I didn't think I was imagining it...”

“I am,” Enjolras confirmed, though the confession made him blush. “But look – it's like. I don't know how to explain it. I forgot the name again...”

“Name?”

“That guy. Who trained his dog.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “I'm a bit concerned about where this is going,” he said.

“Nothing weird!” Enjolras said, “Well, it is, but not _that_ kind of weird. It's---PAVLOV! That's the guy!”

“Pavlo—wait, what?”

“During the meetings. You talk about classics a lot. I've heard your rants about mythology, art history...”

A look of understanding slowly spread across Grantaire's face. It was like watching someone go through the opposite of the five stages of grief. Confusion, realisation, shock, delight, and then smugness.

“Like Pavlov's dog,” he said, grinning wickedly. Enjolras was rather tempted to knee him where it would hurt the most. In his current position he had very easy access. “So you mean – during the meetings – wow. In front of all our friends, Enjolras?”

“Shut up,” Enjolras warned. “Courfeyrac already covered this.”

Grantaire laughed. “You told Courfeyrac?”

“I wanted his advice!”

“And what was it?”

“Well I need you to stop talking like that in bed. It's compromising me,” Enjolras said bluntly.

“Compromising you?” Grantaire scowled. “Alright, I guess. But you like it, don't you?”

“Yes. I do. I really do, and I feel weird about it,” Enjolras admitted. “But I have to be able to focus at meetings. You know that.”

Grantaire looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he hummed. “Fine,” he said. “I have a better idea, though.”

“Oh?”

“How about I just steer clear of the classics and ancient Greece when we're in meetings?” He placed his hands on Enjolras' knees, running them slowly along his thighs. Enjolras felt a familiar heat pool in his stomach. “And I keep talking in bed?”

Enjolras grinned. He pulled Grantaire on top of him again, and this time it was Enjolras that brought his lips to Grantaire's ear.

“I like that idea a lot more..."


End file.
